


It is Forbidden for a Woman to Read

by the_desk_fairy



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Real Person Fiction, The Handmaid's Tale (TV), The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Damon and Pythias, F/M, Halemadge, Tallster, blessed be the fruit bitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:00:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24170947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_desk_fairy/pseuds/the_desk_fairy
Summary: In their early days teaching in Connecticut, Benjamin Tallmadge and Nathan Hale advocated for the education of women, offering some of the first formal classes to female students in the United States.But what if Ben and Nathan were set in Gilead, the world of the Handmaid's Tale?(There are no overt descriptions of rape in this story like the show, the setting is primarily a vehicle for gender politics.)
Relationships: Caleb Brewster/Benjamin Tallmadge, Nathan Hale (1755-1776)/Benjamin Tallmadge
Comments: 34
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: description of executed dissenters and a reference to non-consensual sex.

The alarm blared in his ears. The architecture of a warm, summery dream crumbled around him and he lurched into the present. 

Benjamin Tallmadge rolled over. Images, or perhaps memories, of sun-tinged leaves and glowing red apples fled from his mind. Ben reached for the last faded sense of that autumnal afternoon but found himself blinking awake in his bed. The grey linen sheets were cool and rough against his skin, the paneled ceiling was bare except for a large brown water stain blooming on one of the squares.

He slammed his hand down on the alarm and peered up at the glowing numbers.  _4:00_.  The precious Arabic numerals blinked back at him, a lonely memory of a time when language and symbols covered the surfaces of his world. Now clocks with actual numbers were only allowed to single men, like him.

_It is forbidden for a woman to read_. 

The words had hit Ben like a sledgehammer. The Commander on the flatscreen in his apartment explained in calm, even tones that the global infertility crisis came as a judgement from God for forgetting the order established in the Garden of Eden.

“We have soiled our garden.” High Commander Clinton said, flickering on the screen through a weakened connection. “And in defying the natural order with pesticides, chemicals, nuclear weapons, birth control, abortion and women in the workplace we have sacrificed the very essence of our humanity. Gilead comes not to take away your rights, but to re-establish your God-given destiny to be fruitful and multiply, filling the earth.”

“The question is, who’s humanity is being sacrificed with your fucking bullshit order?” Ben’s roommate Nathan yelled at the tv. 

“What the hell is this?” Caleb had wandered in from the kitchen holding a Mountain Dew. “Can somebody restart the router, my phone won’t get on the internet!”

“I don’t know.” Ben said blankly.

“Hull texted me at five o’clock this morning.” Nathan explained. “He said some terrorist organization calling themselves the Sons of Jacob attacked the capitol building in DC last night—they slaughtered congress!”

“Holy shit.” Caleb sank onto the couch next to Ben. “Who is that ugly bugger?” He gestured at the screen.

“I have no idea, but I think he just suspended the Constitution.” Ben said, his voice edged with disbelief.

They sat in silent horror as the camera zoomed out, revealing the smooth marble steps of a familiar building. As the image panned, it was suddenly obvious that they were looking at the Lincoln Memorial, only the shadowed statue in the background was missing his head. Commander Clinton was standing on the top marble step flanked by tight ranks of women in long red dresses, their heads bowed and covered with odd lampshade-like cones.

“Oh my arsing God in a box.” Caleb gasped.

“I knew it!” Nathan pounded his fists on the leather chair. “This wave of fear-mongering and fascist rhetoric creeping into the faculty at Yale —it should have all been a sign!”

“What could we have possibly done about this?” Ben snapped.

“I should have written more during school, I should have sent that op ed I didn’t complete.” Nathan was rubbing his eyes. “We could have organized the Linonians —started an editorial campaign!”

“Hale, its no use blaming yerself like that.” Caleb said solemnly. “Both you and Benny have been working your wee arses off to finish your teaching degrees.”

"We marched, we voted, we stuck up for our classmates, but it all still went to hell!" Ben's face was twisted in shock. "It’s like Aeschylus says, “ _In war, truth is the first casualty_."

“Well, regardless of what we could have done,” Nathan stood, “let’s focus on what we can do now.” 

Hale’s word’s rang in Ben’s ears as he splashed cold water onto his face from the leaky faucet. The icy shock against his cheeks matched the dread freezing his bones.

_ What the devil am I doing, Pythias? _

He stepped into his dark grey slacks. His skin was gooseflesh; the radiator in the corner of the stark room gurgled a sluggish complaint. Buttoning his light grey cotton shirt, he thought he saw his breath in the frigid air. Grey vest, grey scarf, grey wool trench and toque. He was comforted by the armor of blandness: with luck the monochromatic costume issued to people of his status would hide the fear written across his face.

He clutched his chest as he descended the echoey stairwell, willing his heart to stop hammering over the sound of his oxfords on the metal steps. On the bottom floor of his building a line had already formed for the cafeteria. The trail of young men were almost exclusively garbed in thick working jumpsuits or heavy construction jackets. All grey.

“Blessed day, Mr. Tallmadge.” The Martha at the roll-up window pushed a grey plastic tray across the stainless steel toward him. The woman wore a mist-colored headscarf and matching apron over a grey linen dress. She kept her eyes down.

“Blessed day.” Ben replied. He pressed his lips together and shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“You’re up early for work.” She poured a cup of thin, watery coffee into the small white mug on the tray.

“Faculty meeting before school today, actually.” He mumbled.

“Will it be a dull meeting?” The Martha asked. Her eyes lifted cautiously, they were an ephemeral green. She gave him an understanding smile.

“Ruth!” Another older Martha snarled from behind her. The woman shook a metal spoon half-stuck with oatmeal at her. “The Lord hates a wagging tongue!” Ruth’s face fell.

“Under his eye.” Ben grabbed his tray with a grimace and scurried away.

He slid onto the wooden bench and set his tray on the table. Ben disciplined himself to eat slowly, taking even bites of his toast like somebody who wasn’t about to defy a totalitarian theocracy. His eyes wandered around the cafeteria.

The square paneled ceiling and flimsy veneer-covered doors made it obvious that the single men’s dormitory had been converted from an office building. They had done a hideous job, really. Each unmarried man’s room was equipped with a sink, toilet, heater, lamp, table and bed: all sturdy, utilitarian objects they were allowed to accessorize with the limited items. Ben didn’t bother. He tried to spend as little time as possible in this cage. The damp, musty smell was inescapable. Every word spoken in the building, regardless of their hushed tone, seemed to bounce off the cinderblock walls and into unwanted ears. Florescent lights drowned the space with a soul-crushing ennui, perhaps more defeating than the stodginess of his lukewarm oatmeal. 

Ben tasted nothing as he shoved the food into his face. His mind was spinning, turning over again and again what he was about to do.

“We have been sent good weather!” A man looking to be barely twenty with wavy dark brown hair sat down next to Ben, his tray clattering on the table. 

“Praise be, Mr. Randall.” Ben replied colorlessly. 

“Mr. Hallstrom is getting married, isn’t that such joyous news?” Mr. Randall chirped.

“Yep.” Ben rolled his eyes into his oatmeal. 

“I’ve applied to have his room when he moves to married housing. He’s got two windows, can you believe it? Although married housing has far nicer accommodations—depending on your rank of course.”

“Mmhm.” 

“We must pray for a happy and productive union for Mr. Hallstrom and his wife.” 

“Absolutely.”

“How close are you to earning your courtship status, Mr. Tallmadge?” Randall asked.

“I’ve worked at the secondary school for three years.” Ben replied, still unwilling to acknowledge Gilead’s systematic approach to funneling its citizens toward marriage.

“Oh so you could technically apply for courtship this year!” Randall said enthusiastically. “You are truly blessed!”

“Sure am.” Ben snarled with sarcasm. “Well nice seeing you, I’d better go.” 

“Under his eye!” Mr. Randall said with an innocent smile.

“Yeah, likewise.” Ben tipped his head and rose, snatching up his tray. He stacked his items at the busing station and made his way to the exit.

The glass double door was guarded by a young man dressed head to toe in black with a machine gun slung over his shoulder.

“Under his eye.” Ben nodded politely at the Guardian.

“Under his eye.” The Guardian reciprocated with a tight nod.

Ben pushed his way out the door into the frozen morning. The biting chill clawed at his face and instantly made his nose run.

As soon as his feet found the familiar path marked with grey arrows his heart began to race. Ben slipped his hand inside his coat pocket and gripped his pass for comfort. If anyone stopped him he could always explain about the faculty meeting. It wasn’t like any of the Guardians would actually know that Wethersfield Secondary had a total of two teachers. Unless he was stopped by one of the men that guarded his school. 

_ Damn it, Pythias, this was a bloody awful idea! _

Ben thought back to the early days of Gilead. He, Hale and Brewster hadn't even had time to join the National Guard; the Sons of Jacob had stomped out the opposition so quickly and rearranged society by pressuring its weak points. The three of them had slept in a gym for four weeks, waiting for the new agents of Gilead to redistribute the population. Ben watched with horror as the women all around him disappeared, reemerging with haunted faces and dressed in gray —or worse: red.

Finally it was their turn to enter the new world.

"There's different kinds of freedom, gentleman." Commander Howe had stood before the unmarried men that first week. "Freedom _to_ , and freedom _from_. In this society we have freedom from the aimlessness that afflicts men of this generation, freedom from the unhealthy choices that poisoned our bodies and minds and most importantly for a young man: the freedom from the dictates of lust."

An image appeared on the screen behind Howe that depicted four women in long dresses: blue, brown, gray and red.

Ben could hear Nathan growling next to him, and in fact his own chest had been rumbling with righteous indignation.

"This is nonsense!" Hale shouted. "Making women dress like people from the 18th century doesn’t solve anything. Women shouldn't have to change because of what goes on in a man’s head, it's not their fault!"

"Brother Hale!" Howe shouted. "Was it Eve who took the apple, or was it Adam? Was in not the woman, having accepted the influence of evil, who swayed the man into sin and damnation with her?"

Howe nodded to several Guardians who came up behind Nathan and seized him.

"What the hell!" Nathan struggled. "Let me go!"

"Please!" Ben grabbed onto the arm of a Guardian. "I promise he won't do it again!"

The men dragged Nathan through the doors of the gym back toward a kitchen.

"Young men, take note!" Howe said sternly. "It is for your safety and honor that we make an example of Brother Hale, his pain is his redemption!"

The screams tore Ben apart. He was sinking to his knees when Caleb grabbed hold of his arm.

When Nathan returned several hours later, Hewlett’s reeducation presentation was over. 

"Jesus, Nathan!" Ben caught his friend as he collapsed. The side of Hale's face was bandaged.

"They were going to take my eye." He said hoarsely. "But they did not have the tools on hand. So they seared my face with the kitchen burner instead."

"Bastards." Caleb shook with rage.

Nathan watched his friends silently for a moment as if he was studying the shock on their faces. The corners of his mouth pricked in a defiant smile. “ _Nolite te bastardes carborundorum_. ”

”Hell if I know what that means!” Caleb shook his head.

”It’s a joke from our first year Latin, it doesn’t actually mean anything.” Ben softened.

Nathan grinned. ”It’s meant to say, ‘Don’t let the bastards grind you down.’”

The streets of Wethersfield had changed considerably in the last four years. No words existed on any surface. Cumbersome arrows and markings delineated where different stations of people needed to stand and walk. The Presbyterian church he had addended on Main Street now stood half blown-apart, it’s blackened bricks a sorrowful heap on the street corner. The Webb Barn historical site had been burned and replaced with a glossy, high-rise Red Center. Statues and plaques documenting Connecticut history had all been torn down and replaced with symbols of the new Gilead order.

Ben found himself walking behind two Handmaids. The women trailed behind a Guardian on the narrow sidewalk, making it difficult for Ben to pass them. These red-cloaked reproductive hostages were conspicuous in Gilead, not only as a highly prized tools of the government, but also as reminder of the state’s encroaching authority over everyone’s lives.

He checked his faceless watch:  _ 5:09_. He needed to hurry.

Seeing a slightly wider section of the sidewalk, Ben sped up and tried to pass the pair of Handmaids. As he slid by, his elbow brushed against a small body. He looked over his shoulder in alarm.

A young woman, not much older than seventeen, tipped her head up just enough so he could see her look of surprise frominside the large white wings framing her face. She had big dark eyes and intelligent, regal features. An accidental curl of shining, raven black hair peeped from under the white wimple covering her head. The woman’s eyebrows shot up as Ben stared at her face.

“Uh, sorry,” he stammered. “I mean, blessed be the fruit.”

“May the Lord open.” She said quietly.

“Keep moving, buddy.” The Guardian growled at Ben.

“Sorry.” Ben said quickly. He hustled forward to put distance between himself and the embarrassment he worried he had caused that Handmaid. Bad enough to be enslaved and ritually violated once a month without having some idiot gawking.

He made a hard right, dodging down a side street to find a different route to the school and ensure that he wouldn’t run into the Handmaids again at the stoplight. Immediately he regretted it.

The Wall now loomed before him. 

The structure was really just the side of a concrete building, but Commander Howe had requisitioned this place to display the most recent collection of salvaged dead. Against the blood-stained wall dangled four bodies, two common men in grey like him, one Priest and an Aunt dressed in brown. 

Brown burlap bags were tied over their heads marked with a symbol designating their reasons for salvaging. The first man in grey was marked as a gender traitor, as they condemningly named non-heterosexual people in Gilead, the Aunt and second man in grey were guilty of helping people escape Gilead. The Priest was labeled as a heretic.

“I’ll likely be joining you soon.” Ben murmured grimly, gazing up at the people swaying slightly in the breeze.

It had been a boring, endless slog of a day when Nathan brought up the idea to Ben.

“If I hear one more bloated little Commander’s brat asking to go over Song of Solomon, I’m going to wring his blessed little neck!” Nathan draped himself over a desk chair exasperatedly.

“Oh come on, Pythias.” Ben prodded. “If the Bible is the only bit of literature we can teach, why not actually delve into the diverse offering of the text rather than the limited sections extracted by Gilead’s commanders to fortify their own power?”

Hale wrinkled his nose. “I’m not interested in talking to a bunch of entitled little chauvinists about the “ _twin fawns_ ” and _“rounded thighs like jewels_....”

“Jesus, they are horny little shits.” Ben laughed.

“I miss teaching a coed classroom.” Hale mused. “I mean, why continue the cycle of relegating women to domestic work when they are just as apt to education? Especially in times of such instability!”

“Take it up with High Commander Clinton.” Ben snorted. He began stacking books back onto the shelves. Just as he was about to pick up the notebooks off each desk, Ben felt the back of his neck prickle.

“Oh no.” He dropped the stack and looked at Nathan. “You’re having one of your ideas, aren’t you? Please, Pythias! They already barbecued half your face!”

“It’s just an idea, Ben.” Hale raised his hands defensively.

“How would you plan on doing it?!” Ben said exasperatedly. “You can’t expect to go from Plato to Derrida in a few clandestine meetings!”

“Socrates said,” Nathan began importantly. “ _ Education is the kindling of a flame, not the filling of a vessel _ .”

“Oh my God, we’re going to end up on the wall!” Ben moaned.

He kept up a brisk pace until he reached the familiar brick building now known as Wethersfield Secondary, where he and Nathan Hale taught the sons of the Commanders in the area. Ben mounted the steps, his breath escaping in large puffs. He reached into his coat, fumbling for the door key.

“You’re here awfully early, Mr. Tallmadge.”

Ben froze. He rotated around slowly.

A figure dressed all in black had been leaning against the inside of a brick pillar. Now he emerged from the shadow, gripping his AR-15 and wearing veiled, calculating expression. A shock of red curls peeped out from under his black beanie.

“Guardian Simcoe, I did not see you there.” Ben said cordially, trying to play it off.

“For what purposes could you be entering the schoolhouse so early, sir?” Simcoe drifted toward Ben as if sensing his weakness. His high, calculating voice seemed to be drawn into the cracks in Ben’s armor like cold air sucked in by a down draft. 

“I need to familiarize myself with the content for today’s lecture.” Ben smiled calmly. “I seem to have forgotten the context for the Beatitudes as they appear in Matthew.”

“You said you went to Yale?” Simcoe’s eyes narrowed. “Pity they didn’t drive home lessons of the Word at such institutions.” His expression began to loosen the pressure, but Ben thought this might be a trap. “Certainly would have saved you some time.”

“Indeed it would have.” Ben agreed, disciplining every muscle of his face not to give the slightest betraying twitch.

“I think I should like to sit in on this lecture, perhaps I can come inside while you study?” Simcoe said. His beady eyes were searching Ben, his lips curled with amusement like a cat toying with its prey.

“By all means.” Ben’s heart dropped into his shoes and then shot back up into his throat.

“Allow me.” Simcoe wrapped his hand around the keys in Ben's fingers and took them. He began to unlocked the front door. Time slowed and Ben started to feel every articulation of Simcoe turning the key and reaching for the door handle.

_Oh God, it’s really happening. I’m going to be salvaged._ He imagined his body hanging over the concrete ledge with red triangle stamped on the burlap bag covering his face.

“Guardian Simcoe!” A breathless voice came from behind them. They turned around, genuinely surprised.

“I’m here to relieve you of your post, sir.” Caleb Brewster was standing on the steps, panting and out of breath. 

“Seems odd, I only just got here!” Simcoe sounded disappointed.

“It’s by order of Howe, sir.” Caleb shrugged. “He needs you back at headquarters.”

Suddenly, the intensity in all corners of Simcoe’s body seemed to draw together: his jaw hardened and his eyes seemed to strain under the pressure.

“Very well Guardian Brewster.” He said after some time. He gave Ben one last scrutinizing look before descending the brick steps toward the road. After Simcoe had disappeared, Caleb released a puff of air that fanned out in front of his face and hung there, suspended in the thick tension of the moment they had barely survived.

“That was a close one, Tall Boy.” Caleb said severely.

“You’re damn right, Brewster!” Ben whirled around. “Why the hell did you let Simcoe take your rotation?”

“He wasn’t posted at the school!” Caleb retorted. “If the bastard thought he had some reason to stick around and watch you, that’s not my fault!”

“Never mind, let’s just do this and try to be more careful next time!” Ben sighed.

They strode into the entry of the small building and Ben locked the front door.

“Damon!” Nathan Hale slipped out of the classroom. The look on his face told Ben that his usually confident friend was out of his depth. For a moment, Ben thought everything was a bust.

“Pythias, are they here?” Ben’s heart raced. “Did it work?”

“They came.” Nathan nodded, his eyes glittering. Ben sensed in his friend a rebellious joy that reminded him of the way things used to be.

“Alright, we have an hour.” Ben said. “Are you ready?”

“Of course.” Said Hale. “ _ The best way to keep good acts in memory is to refresh them with new _ .”

”Cato the Elder?” 

“Yes! But, Damon, I’ve thought about it again, and I think we should swap the poetry and the plays section after all.” Nathan said, speaking quickly with nervous energy. “It makes more sense pedagogically—you should go first.”

“Getting cold feet?” Ben grinned at his friend.

“I think it’s too late for that.” Nathan chuckled. He swung the door open and the two teachers stepped inside the classroom.

“Holy God, Nathan!!” Ben whispered, stopping short. “You said twelve!”

“When the network got talking the requests came pouring in!” Hale replied blithely. “Who am I to say no?” 

Ben could hardly believe his eyes. There, in a classroom that systematically excluded them, sat fifty young women.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah thanks for reading! 
> 
> Ben and Nathan’s real nicknames for each other, Damon and Pythias is from the Greek story about heroes who promised to die for one another. It was Hale who inspired Tallmadge to also start holding early morning classes for women. There is a direct quote from Hale about his opinion on women’s education in the middle of this chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: mentions of forced sex work.

Anna Strong held the bar wench’s costume up to herself, biting her lip. The woman in the mirror looking back at her was exhausted.

Sighing resignedly, she pulled the skimpy garment over her head and tightened the lace-up stays underneath her soft bust. The cheap polyester around her neck was itchy: not enough to compel her to duck back into the costume closet, but just enough discomfort to remind Anna that she lived with the constant hum of malaise. She had gotten used to feeling terrible.

It was ironic the more she thought about it, that in a society so fastidious about organic cotton, linen and wool on all its citizens, the dark underbelly where she lived and worked was just as shitty and cheap as the days when plastic littered almost every street in this city. Jezebel’s was a shadow in Gilead: the faded memory of a bad hotel bar —only with a 24 hour orgy.   
  


_It’s like Denny’s_. She smirked. _Only for depressing threesomes with barely-literate egomaniacs_.

Anna didn’t have the energy for shame anymore about being passed around the cast of men every night. It was enough work just plastering a smile on.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she examined how toned her thighs had become from running drinks and trays around the service floor. A small murmur of appreciation escaped her lips, damn if those legs didn’t carry her sunken spirit like two little champions.

She pressed the flouncy little skirt of the costume. It was the sort of thing she might have worn for Abe when they were dating. He always enjoyed a moment of fantasy.

A few months ago Anna had caught wind that Abe had married some boring, godly woman from Brooklyn.

Praise fucking be.

At night she wondered if she might have been placed as Abe’s Handmaid: they were still only blocks away from each other, as far as she knew. Anyway, it was a moot point. At the Red Center they made it clear she hadn’t passed their horrible, invasive test they gave her after Selah was taken away. Anna wasn’t sure if it was better to be ritually abused once a month and treated like a spot-lit albatross or abused several times a week with as much weed, booze and molly as she wanted. She decided the latter gave her a bit more freedom. Sometimes.

Somebody flipped on the music outside the dressing room. It was a grungy dubstep or other from a dozen years ago, the bass thumped annoyingly against the wall. Anna wrinkled her nose and hiked up the front of her costume: trying to eke out a little more coverage for her breasts.

“Heard you had a husband before this.”

One of the new Jezebels had walked in front of Anna’s mirror. She was tucking an enormous blonde wig into her hairline.

“No.” Anna frowned, still thinking about Abe. “Wait yes, you meant before I got here —to Jezebel’s, not before the...” She gestured upward. “You know... All this.”

“Yeah, Abigail said you had somebody. Sorry I don’t mean to pry.”

“It’s alright. We were assigned to each other shortly after the coup.”

“Damn, what was his name?” Blondie asked.

“Selah Strong. He was sent to the colonies.” Anna coughed. “For having ‘unbiblical sympathies.’”

“And you wound up here.” The Jezebel clucked sympathetically. “Life is shit.”

“Yeah.” Anna studied herself in the mirror behind the woman fixing her wig.

She didn’t feel ready to prance out onto the floor tonight, smile inanely, or serve drinks to handsy, demeaning Commanders. Her eyes darted around the dressing room; perhaps if she added an ugly wimple or a kertch to her barmaid’s outfit she wouldn’t have to service one of the men. She’d already hit her quota at the beginning of the week, now anything extra was just a tax on her sanity.

“ _This is shit_.” She thought, indignation rising up in her. “ _Bullshit_.”

***

It was a Sunday —her Friday, as she thought of it. The weekend of debauchery and violation was nearly over, and yet sometimes the Commanders were randiest after hearing about God for four hours in the morning.

“Plus twenty six!” Anna said loudly into the kitchen. She set down her tray to be filled with another round of appetizers.

“Looks like a busy one.” A Martha named Abigail was plating bruschetta for Anna to carry onto the floor.

“A whole stretch hummer full of Eyes from Connecticut just rolled in.” Anna said exasperatedly. “And they’re all hungry. Better make another batch of that.”

“Mercy.” Abigail’s eyebrows shot up.

“How is Cicero?” Anna helped the woman load up the large tray with little plates.

“He’s having trouble in the school.” Abigail said quietly. “All the boys in his class are slated for careers in industrial plumbing maintenance but he wants to be an engineer. He’s smart enough too.”

“But you’re not a redemption class, you’re just average people! Surely he can study to do the job he wants?” Anna gasped.

“Apparently not.” Abigail said sadly. “Akinbode said he heard that only Commanders’ sons study toward preferred careers.”

“Akinbode is a Guardian.” Anna mused. “Perhaps he can become a Commander.”

“He’d have to sell is soul.” Abigail shook her head gravely.

“Welcome to the club.” Anna laughed darkly. She lifted the tray of appetizers and swept out of the kitchen, her short skirts swirling about her thighs.

The group from Connecticut was loud and horrible. Anna tallied the Jezebels draped over laps and decided her odds of escaping a more intimate service were good.

“Another appetizer sir?” She held the tray lower toward a man with striking ginger hair.

The man swiveled around and took her in, his eyes clawing over every inch of her, making her skin crawl.

“I think just looking at you is quite the appetizer.” His voice was high and reedy, his lips drew into a pursed little smile.

Anna gave a weak laugh and offered the tray to the man on the other side.

“Perhaps you’d like to accompany me this evening, madam.” The high voice returned.

“Well we’re a little short staffed in the kitchen tonight…” Anna’s body language and tone of voice were carefully calculated to avoid giving the man a hard no. She had learned to casually redirect and de-escalate. “I would most certainly enjoy your company next time.” She smiled prettily.

The man rose from his seat. Not the effect she had intended.

“You’re afraid of me.” He said softly.

“No.” Anna replied, swallowing. She lifted her chin and commanded herself not to look away from those piercing eyes.

“I won’t force you.” He said. “I’m a warrior, not a monster.”

The man sank back down in his seat with a slight smirk playing on his lips, his eyes never leaving Anna.

With cold sweat creeping down her neck, Anna practically threw the bruschetta at the rest of the guests before hastening back toward the kitchen.

A hand closed around her arm and pulled her into a shadowed alcove.

 _Here we go._ Anna steeled herself.

“Caleb?” She squinted in the dark.

Caleb Brewster put a finger over his lips.

“Anna.” Caleb whispered. “I’ve been working with Ben outside of Hartford. We’re part of the May Day ring.”

“Our Ben? Benjamin Tallmadge?” Anna nearly laughed. “Little goody-two shoes Mathlete?”

“Listen, I heard about what happened to Selah.”

“He’s as good as dead.” She replied bitterly.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He looked up at her with a question. “Have you seen Abe?”

“No, of course I haven’t seen him!” Hot rage flashed in Anna’s eyes. “What makes you think Abe would come to a place like this?”

“Well you might be seeing more of him.” Caleb hissed. “He’s working with us.”

“This sounds extremely foolish, Caleb.”

“You're damned right it is! But Abe is a Commander, he has an inside on all the dealings in New York. We could establish a chain of information straight from the top!”

Anna leaned toward Caleb, her words snarling through gritted teeth. “Abe’s father is one of the architects who designed this hell-scape we all get to live in —and don’t forget he hates me!”

“Look, Anna.” Caleb said. “This will cost you much more than it costs me, I know that. But if we’re all going to die under their boot or on that wall, don’t you want to die for something that actually made a difference?”

Anna closed her eyes. Often, in the midst of her horrible work, she would gaze at the words sitting on the tip of her tongue. She would turn them over in her mind like the handle of a dagger who’s delicious bite might wound the vile man between her legs on its way to ending her life. As it was, she was only a snide remark away from hanging.

“I’ll do it.” She exhaled.

***

“You need to finish on time or you put everyone at risk, Pythias.” Ben scolded.

He had grown used to the feeling of frayed nerves, but leave it to Nathan to unravel him to new levels of thinness.

“And which element of poetry would I leave out to trim my lecture?” Nathan retorted. “A basic overview means I’ve got to cover it comprehensively.”

“Just tell me if you want to split a subject like that into two lectures!”

“Not all the young women can get here consistently!”

Ben slammed the Bible down on the desk.

“I am not going to die because you decided to declaim four stanzas of Longfellow to explain the concept of meter!”

“Alright, Daemon, so perhaps I could have just recited just one stanza.”

“Thank you.” Ben fumed.

They worked in silence, shredding every scrap of paper the women had used. Ben scoured the floor with anxious scrupulousness for any forgotten item, any long hair, any sign of the presence of women.

“Excuse me.”

Ben and Nathan’s heads snapped up in shock.

It was a woman.

She was dressed in red.

“Oh no, miss.” Ben stammered. “I don’t think…”

“Do you have a school here?” Her voice dropped. “For women?”

Nathan glanced at his best friend; Ben was beet red, his mouth hung open.

“I was valedictorian at Wethersfield High —that was just before the coup. I was supposed to go to Yale.” She said slowly. “For 18th century literature.”

The Handmaid tucked a curl of shining raven hair back up into her wimple. Her beautiful dark skin was flushed with nervous energy but her eyes were fierce and hopeful.

“What’s your name?” Nathan approached the woman slowly.

Ben’s throat caught. Being found alone with a Handmaid was considered tantamount to taking a powerful man’s property. His heart hammered in his chest.

“Ofelijah.” The Handmaid said, lifting her chin bravely.

“No.” Nathan replied, his voice tight with empathetic pain. “Not that name.”

“Alice.” The Handmaid’s eyes grew glassy with tears. “Alice Adams.”

“Where do you live, Alice?” Nathan asked quietly. It was a more dignifying way to frame the obvious question.

“I’m posted with the Ripleys.” She answered. “They live in the large white house on Mill Street, the one with…”

“…the pink azaleas.” Nathan finished.

“That’s right.” Her smile warmed the room.

“How will you get here without them noticing?” Ben asked quickly. “Does your Martha know where you are?”

“Yes.” Alice shifted uncomfortably. “She helped me get away; Mrs. Ripley thinks I’m out shopping with my walking partner.”

“What do you want to know, Alice?” Nathan offered.

“I just…” She bit her lip. “I want to feel like a person again.” The tears spilled over her thick lashes and down her cheeks. “I’m not sure you have much Voltaire lying around.”

Nathan got a cheeky smile.

“ _Fools have a habit of believing that everything written by a famous author is admirable. For my part I read only to please myself and like only what suits my taste._ ”

“Oh my God, is that _Candide_? Please tell me you have the whole thing memorized!” Alice’s eyes lit with delight.

“ _Alas...I too have known love, that ruler of hearts, that soul of our soul._ ” Ben jumped in with his own _Candide_ quote. “ _It’s never brought me anything except one kiss and twenty kicks in the rump._ ”

“I know you’re risking the wall with what you’re doing.” Alice said gravely. “But I would be very grateful if you would teach me everything you know about literature in the 1700s —at least, everything you can remember.”

“Miss Adams,” Ben said tensely, “I’m afraid our other students will be arriving very soon.”

“Come back, Alice.” Nathan took her hand. “My degree is in education, so I’m guessing my scope of knowledge is less than yours on this subject, but I would be honored to discuss anything with you. We can remember together.”

“I’d like that.” The corner of her mouth perked up shyly. She fixed the white wings back around her head. “I’ve got to go, my walking partner will be expecting me at the corner.”

“Take care, Alice.” Ben said. “Stay safe.”

Nathan regarded her with fascination as she turned to go.

“ _Qui plus sait_ …” He called after her.

Alice turned and from behind the edge of her wings he could see one sparkling clever eye.

“… _plus se tait._ ” She replied, the edge of her face curved in a smile.

Alice slipped out the back of the school house and shut the white-washed door quietly behind.

No sooner had she gone when Ben and Nathan could hear the boorish arguing and clomping of adolescent feet coming up the front steps. Annoyance bubbled in Ben’s stomach. Getting up earlier for their clandestine classes hadn’t softened his mood toward the nasty little chauvinists he spent the rest of the day with.

“This is a terrible idea, Pythias.” Ben breathed, shooting Nathan a horrified look.

“I know.” Nathan shrugged offhandedly. “But think about it, Ben, we’re already holding secret meetings, teaching women and passing information for May Day. What’s book club with a Handmaid on top of that?”

“Handmaids are the most watched class of people, Nathan.”

“She deserves to be treated like a person.”

“I agree, but I don’t think you understand how serious this is.”

“I’m aware of the risk.” Nathan snapped.

“I don’t think you are.” Ben frowned. “You couldn’t tell, could you.”

“Tell what?” His face reddened.

Ben let out a slow breath.

“Nathan, I think Alice is pregnant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alice Adams and Nathan Hale formed a very close relationship while Nathan taught in New London. They were secretly engaged before Nathan’s mother and sister pressured the two of them to break it off on account of their young age. After this, Alice was quickly married off to an older man named Elijah Ripley with whom she had one son before Ripley died two years later. By this time the American Revolution was underway and Alice took her late husband’s money and moved in with the Hale family while Nathan was off serving with the Connecticut line. They were thought to be engaged up until Hale’s death.
> 
> “Qui plus sait, plus se tait” is a quote from Voltaire’s Candide, meaning “the more you know, the more you’re silent.”


End file.
